James Chase - A Can of Worms

“Wake up, stupe!” I said, losing patience with him. “Sign now or I’ll blow the whistle. I could get off with a three-year stretch, but you and your buddies lose millions and gain a twenty-year stretch. Make up your tiny mind!”

He moved: nothing more lethal than wiping the sweat off his face.

“Relax, partner,” I said to encourage him. “You won’t see me again. As soon as Solly gives me the loot, I’m shaking the dust off this city. Think what you and your buddies can do with all those millions, plus a big income for years.”

I knew I had him in such a squeeze, there could be no blow back, and there wasn’t. With an unsteady hand, he picked up a pen.

I watched him.

A million dollars.

I could hear the patter of feet as the dolls came chasing.

Then the scene turned sour. I saw Diaz stiffen and stare beyond me. I saw his face start to fall to pieces.

A kid’s voice said shrilly, “You killed my brothers, senor Diaz. Now, I kill you.”

I jerked around.

Joey was standing in the doorway. In his small, dirty hand, he held a .38 revolver. It was pointing at Diaz.

“No, Joey!” I yelled.

The bang of the gun shook the room.

My eyes shifted to Diaz. His face had exploded in a mess of blood. He sat there, the pen in his hand, the contract unsigned.

I moved fast. Jumping to my feet, I snatched up the contract, my statement and Selby’s receipt. I stuffed the papers in my pocket, then I spun around.

Joey smiled at me. It was the happy smile of a child who has been given a gift-wrapped parcel.

“No one kills my people, Mr. Anderson,” he said. “They die too.”

“Get the hell out of here!” I shouted at him.

“Yes, Mr. Anderson.” He smiled again and walked out of the room.

He didn’t get far. Three big Mexicans grabbed him and hustled him back into the office. One of them had snatched the gun from him.

The office became crowded. Three hustlers, who had pushed their way in, began to scream. Everyone was staring at what was left of Diaz.

I slid around them to the door.

Above the uproar, I heard Joey’s treble voice shouting in triumph: “I killed him! I killed him! Do you hear me, Tommy? Do you hear me Jimbo? I killed him!”

I fought my way out onto the street, slid into the Maser, and was driving away, as the cop sirens began to cut the air.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I was in a state of depression, and in a cold sweat of fear.

My foremost thought was whether the cops would get onto me.

As I paced the big living room, I told myself that no one at the Alameda knew me by name. The barkeep knew I had seen Diaz twice, and he knew I had been in Diaz’s office when Joey pulled the trigger. In the confusion, I had slid away. I was sure no one noticed me leaving, but would the cops start asking questions? Joey was caught. It should be an open-and-shut case, but when the cops started questioning him, would he pull me into the mess?

Take it easy, baby, I said to myself. You were a good pal of Joey. He won’t give you away.

I poured myself a drink, tossed it back, then refilled the glass.

You hope, baby, he won’t give you away, I thought. There’s nothing you can do about it, but hope.

What now?

Diaz was dead, but Nancy and Pofferi were very much alive. I thought of those two, with Josh Jones, hiding in Hamel’s house: three deadly, dangerous people. As much as I liked picking up a million dollars, I was not going to put the squeeze on them. It would be like fooling with nitroglycerin.

Bart, baby, I said to myself, kiss that million goodbye. Those three are out of your league. All you can now hope for is you don’t get the cops on your neck. If you have any I luck, you won’t. Then you return to the Agency, and you go on working for peanuts, and you look around for some doll who won’t be too expensive, and you’ll go on and on until the Colonel decides to retire you, and you will settle down on the state and wait for death.

I poured myself another drink.

Man was I depressed!

I sat there, thinking of nothing, drinking and getting high. The shadows began to creep across the carpet. In another six hours I would have to report for duty to guard an old nut.

Then the telephone bell rang. I poured another drink and let the bell ring.

Maybe Bertha had changed her mind. I didn’t want to be bothered with Bertha right now. She was the original pain in the ass. So let her ring.

After a while, the telephone bell slumped into silence. In spite of my depression, I felt hungry. I weaved my way into the kitchen. I found nothing in the refrigerator except a bottle of Scotch.

I went back to my chair, sat down and closed my eyes.

Time passed. I dreamed I was sitting in the Maser, waiting for an unfaithful wife to come out of a sleazy motel where she had been having it off with a Romeo: my future.

Then the front door bell rang, ringing persistently. I came awake with a jerk.

The cops?

I got to my feet. The short sleep had sobered me. I looked at my watch. The time was 23.05.

The bell rang again.

I smoothed down my hair, straightened my crumpled jacket and went into the lobby. My heart was thumping. My brain revolved around possible lies when Lepski began to shoot questions at me.

The bell rang again.

I opened up.

Gloria Cort pushed by me and walked into the living room.

It only needed this, I thought. She’s after the ten thousand I promised her.

With dragging feet, I followed her into the living room.

“Now listen, baby...” I began.

“Shut your mouth!” she snapped. “You listen to me!” She dropped onto the settee and regarded me with that expression some women can paste on their faces that set up the red light in any man’s mind.

“Have a drink?” I suggested.

“Listen! I’m quitting, but you need to know something before I go.”

She looked so tense, I left off reaching for the bottle and slumped into the nearest lounging chair.

“So, okay, I’m listening,” I said.

“That bug you gave me. I fixed it, as you said, in Alphonse’s office. I listened in. If it hadn’t been for that bug, I wouldn’t be here. I would have been fished out of the harbour with my brains on my face.”

I gaped at her.

“Now, look...”

“Listen! That sonofabitch Alphonso was planning to murder me! I listened to him telling that nigger to knock me on the head and toss me into the harbour!” She suddenly smiled. It was a smile a cobra might envy. “I beat him to it. He’s dead: I’m alive.”

I continued to gape at her.

“By giving me that bug, you saved my life, and you can save Nancy Hamel’s life too.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Nancy’s life?”

“For two nights I have been listening to Pofferi and Diaz talking. Here’s something I’ve only just found out: Nancy has a twin sister. They are identical twins. Nancy and Lucia. Get it?”

The last piece of this jigsaw puzzle dropped into place. The two beds in the tent: the woman I saw leave the yacht with Pofferi and Jones. Lucia, not Nancy!

I was now alert and very sober.

“Keep talking,” I said.

“I heard them telling each other how clever they had been. Because Lucia was to replace Nancy, they got rid of Penny Highbee who would have spotted Lucia posing as Nancy. Then Lucia telephoned Nancy, asking her to come to the Alameda. Nancy would do anything for her sister. It was Nancy who financed the escape from Italy and hid those two on the island. When Nancy came, they locked her in a room. Lucia put on Nancy’s clothes and drove Pofferi, hidden in the trunk of Nancy’s car, to Hamel’s place. She had no trouble passing the barrier. The guard thought she was Nancy. Then leaving Pofferi in the house, she took off in the yacht with Jones to establish an alibi. When Pofferi murdered Hamel, Lucia returned. That old goat, Palmer thought she was Nancy. He handled the Fuzz and the press. Last night, Jones took Nancy to Hamel’s place. She was drugged. She, Lucia, Pofferi and Jones are still there.”